Galladon's face appeared clearly in the bronze mirror.
Short, slightly curly blonde hair framed his forehead, the ends a little unruly. Beneath it, a pair of deep blue eyes—clear as the waters of the Sea of Tarth—were rimmed faintly with gray, like the sea beneath morning mist.
His skin was fair, dotted with a few tiny freckles near the bridge of his nose. His cheeks still held the softness of youth. His brows were long, his nose straight, his jawline firm yet not harsh.
Nearly five feet tall already, he stood taller than most boys his age. Combined with noble attire and sharp features, he carried himself with natural aristocratic bearing.
"This face is worthy of the Just Maid," he thought.
After adjusting his collar, Galladon descended to the first-floor hall.
Breakfast at Dusk Hall
Maids moved back and forth, placing dishes on the long table—bread, sweet soup, bacon, fruit.
"My lord!"
They bowed deeply as he entered.
Galladon noticed their gazes—brighter, more reverent than usual.
News of the holy sword had spread.
Claude approached.
"My lord, please eat first. The lord rode to Sapphire Town yesterday and has not yet returned. The young lady is still asleep."
Galladon frowned slightly. Sapphire Town was close—half an incense-stick ride by horse. Why would his father stay overnight?
He didn't dwell on it.
Breakfast was lavish:
Three kinds of bread—hard brown, soft white, and slightly sweet golden bread
Bacon, sweet shrimp, ham slices, chicken
Sweet soup and peppered fish soup
Apples, peeled blood oranges, roasted pumpkin
Though the seasoning was simple, the ingredients were fresh.
He ate contentedly.
After breakfast, Galladon climbed to the adjacent tower's third floor.
This was Maester Amos's domain—also where ravens were kept for messages.
The elderly maester, nearly sixty, sat in his study surrounded by parchment and ink.
"Galladon, you're here."
His eyes gleamed with excitement.
He had examined the Just Maid the previous night and barely slept from exhilaration. Since the extinction of the Targaryen dragons, Westeros had seen little sign of true magic.
The reappearance of a holy sword might signal change.
As Galladon's teacher, he felt both pride and responsibility.
"Good morning, Maester Amos."
They sat across the long table.
The maester's chain of office rested heavily on his chest—links of bronze, iron, silver, gold, and even platinum.
Each link symbolized mastery:
Bronze: astronomy
Black iron: Ravenry
Silver: medicine
Gold: mathematics
Valyrian Steel: Higher Mysteries
Copper: History
He had served House Tarth for thirty years.
"You fell into the sea yesterday. You may rest today."
"No need, Maester. I'm fine."
Amos smiled approvingly.
Most noble boys preferred swords and horses. Galladon pursued both martial training and knowledge.
"Very well. Let us review heraldry."
He began testing him.
"House Royce?"
Galladon answered without hesitation:
"Runestone, north of Gulltown, on the coast of the Narrow Sea. Their sigil is bronze runes over stone on orange. Their words are 'We Remember.' Founded in the Age of Heroes, once ruled by the Bronze Kings. They lost the Valyrian blade Lamentation during the Dance of the Dragons but still possess enchanted bronze armor."
Maester Amos nodded, impressed.
"House Velaryon?"
"Driftmark. A silver seahorse on sea-green. 'The Old, The True, and The Brave.' Of Valyrian descent but not dragonlords. Ancient allies of the Targaryens. Often holds the position of Master of Ships."
The maester beamed.
"You have mastered heraldry. Let us begin a new course."
He presented options:
Geography and cartography of the Seven Kingdoms
Noble rites and inheritance law
Medicine and herbal knowledge
"Geography," Galladon chose.
Maps were power.
"May I add another subject?"
"What subject?"
"High Valyrian."
Maester Amos raised a brow.
High Valyrian was rarely taught outside Targaryen or Velaryon households.
"I hear merchants speaking it in Sapphire Harbor. I wish to travel to the Free Cities one day."
The maester nodded thoughtfully.
"Very well. But it will require extra study."
"I understand."
They studied Westeros' map first.
Then Amos produced a High Valyrian poetry collection.
Galladon blinked internally.
Learning a language through poetry?
But this was a medieval world—no structured textbooks.
He endured.
Amos's explanations were thorough.
After about two incense sticks of study, Galladon checked his panel.
No "High Valyrian" skill yet.
Perhaps it required reaching at least 1% proficiency.
He wasn't worried.
He still didn't know how to earn Judgment Points anyway.
Just as sunlight strengthened through the window, a knock came.
"Maester, young lord—the lord has returned and requests you in the hall."
"Father?"
"Go, Galladon. That will conclude today's lesson."
The Return
Galladon descended to the main hall.
There stood Lord Selwyn.
In his hand was Just Maid.
No longer wrapped in a simple leather sheath.
Now it rested within a magnificent black scabbard.
(End of Chapter 6)
A/N:
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